


Memories

by BlueBelle12345



Category: Shatter Me Series - Tahereh Mafi
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:27:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27569776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueBelle12345/pseuds/BlueBelle12345
Summary: A short little fic from naveera’s perspective. It’s set when naveera starts seeing memories of Aaron and Ella. Enjoy!
Kudos: 2





	Memories

Naveera

I get up and leave. I look at Haider. He looks uncomfortable. I hear them talking.   
“Nice going, Kishimoto.”   
Warner’s mad at Kenji. They’re all loud-whispering, and everyone can hear them. It would be funny if it weren’t so annoying. I think Juliette says something, but I can’t make it out. I hear Haider get up and leave. I turn invisible. I don’t want Haider asking me questions or wondering why I’m listening to the conversation. He passes right by me, not suspecting a thing. And how could he. I never told him about my ability. And I rarely use it. I’m not sure what would happen if Haider found out about it. I know that he hates our parents, but I’m not sure where his loyalties lay. I hear Warner get mad at Kenji again.   
He’s blaming Kenji for Haider’s and my disappearance. If only he knew the real reason . Kenji was acting stupid, yes. But Juliette was the reason I left. I saw her wrist. For a split second I saw it. And she had a long scar on the back of her wrist. When I saw that scar, a million things suddenly fell in and out of place. And now I have so many questions I need to find the answers to. I need to get to my room. I don’t need any disturbances. I don’t need questions. I don’t need disturbances. What I need is a time to sort out these problems inside my head. A place that’s peaceful and quite. I’m kind of scared, actually. I’m scared of what could happen. I always knew the Reestablishment was evil. Evil and awful. I knew my parents were homicidal maniacs. And I knew they loved the feeling of other’s fear and their own power. But for some stupid reason I thought they had a line. I thought they knew when they went to far. But I was utterly and completely wrong. I was stupid. I had hope. But as Warner says; hope is a dangerous thing. I know now he was right. Hope is a dangerous thing. So is love. A beautiful, dangerous game. Love can pretend to solve all your problems, but as soon as you let down your guard, love will stab you in the back. That’s the reason I didn’t talk to Kenji. No, Kenji is to informal. I’d better refer to him as Kishimoto. I felt drawn to him. It was so different. That, and terrifying. I don’t have enough time to deal with silly things like love. I’ve got to focus on the memories. Even though he does have a pretty spectacular face. No. I slap myself. I’ve got to concentrate on the priority. My memories. I walk into my room and close the door. I stop being invisible. I suddenly feel light on my feet. I look down. Then up. The room is spinning. I feel lightheaded, almost drunk. But that’s impossible. I don’t drink. I never have and I never will. “It’s probably exhaustion,” I say to myself. But it seems unlikely. I am tired, that’s for sure. I haven’t slept in at least 24 hours. But Ive been awake for far longer without any of this. It’s got to be something different. But what? I don’t have any other ideas. This isn’t something I’ve ever experienced before. I’m shivering, but it’s not from the cold. The room is spinning. It’s suddenly too much. I feel myself fall into my bed, and everything goes dark.   
...  
I’m 5 years old and standing next to two girls. On is slightly younger than me, and the other is slightly older. The younger one is Ella and the older one is Emmaline. We are all standing next to new bikes, all just a little to big for us. We are right next to a big, light yellow house. There are lots of windows. We are standing on beautiful green grass. There are even wildflowers in the grass. I’m about five and Emmaline is six. Ella is five, like me. There’s a man and woman. The woman is holding a camera.  
“Smile,” she says. I do.  
Ella is smiling very wide. The woman taking a picture is their mom. And the man is their dad. Emmaline is smiling, but she doesn’t look quite as exited as Ella. After the picture is taken Ella’s mom smiles. She looks at the picture and looks happy.  
“Go ahead,” she says. She motions for us to get onto our bikes. We all get on the bikes and start riding. Emmaline laughs. I ask why she’s laughing.  
“I’m just so happy,” is what she says.  
We ride away from their house into a green field. It’s a place that has life. The field is green and it has a few wildflowers. Emmaline stops to pick some. Then we keep going. We ride. Ella sees a bird. It’s white, with gold streaks like a crown. She loses her balance while pointing to it and she falls. She skins her knee. I can see her silently crying. I start to get off my bike to help her, but she nods and gets onto her bike. We ride more. I notice that Ella looks very determined not to fall off. My bike goes over a rock and I fall off. I twist my ankle but keep going. I know they hate it when I cry so I blink back tears and keep going. We all eventually turn back around to go home. We ride the entire way back in silence. Emmaline never falls off her bike. Not once. We see their parents come into view. We get off our bikes and smile happily. Ella runs into her mother’s arms. Emmaline just stands in place, smiling. My parent’s car rolls into the driveway. Ella’s mother waves. My mother steps out of the car. She frowns when she notices me limping. She asks what happened. I tell her I fell off my bike and twisted my ankle.   
“Did you cry?”, she asks. I tell her no. For a second she almost looks proud. I smile. I feel hope. I think that she could love me. I get into the car. I wait as she talks to Ella’s mom. We drive to the airport and fly back home. We go inside. My father is waiting for us in the kitchen. I go to my room. I fall asleep.   
...  
I wake up sweating and confused. What was that? My common sense says that it was a dream. A dream where the main character is young and naive. Something about the three girls on bikes seemed familiar. Ella, Emmaline, and I’m sure that other girl was me. A younger, more pure version of me. A me that beloved her parents could love her, could be proud of her. But I now know that’s not true. My parents will never be proud of me. They will never love me. But everything in that dream seemed so familiar. What was that?   
Memory.   
That’s what a voice in my head says. That’s it. I’m officially insane. I always knew this would happen. Now it has. I’m crazy. I’m hearing voices in my head and the room was spinning. Those are both pretty good indicators that I’m insane.  
No.  
Another voice. But I don’t care. I’m crazy. I laugh giddily, this is fun. I skip around my bed and then I jump onto it. I let out another laugh. I roll on my bed and jump up and down.  
Stop.  
The voice is sharp this time. I sit down. It goes dark and I know this is another memory.  
...

I’m five. Ella is sitting next to me. We are both sitting on swings in my backyard. It’s very hot. Ella and I are very bored. Ella is telling me about her idea to go swim in the lake.   
“It will be fun! We can get wet and we won’t be hot. What do you think?”, she asks.  
I say we can’t go in the lake. She looks hurt so I add, “I mean, I’d love to go in the lake. But my parents would be really mad if we got wet.” She doesn’t look hurt anymore, but she does look disappointed. She starts to talk about drying off quickly but I cut her off.  
“I have an idea.”  
“What?”  
I tell her about my dad’s sword collection. “We could play with the swords.”   
She looks like she wants to do it but isn’t entirely convinced. I think she still wants to use her lake idea.   
“But what would we play?” I think for a minute, then say,   
“We could practice our sword skills. Then we could show our parents and they would be super proud.” I’m imagining my parents being happy. Telling me that I was their pride and joy. I could imagine them clapping for me. So is Ella. All we want is our parents approval.   
“Ok.”  
We quietly sneak into the house. I put a finger to my lips. She nods. We walk past the kitchen and the living room and tip toe up the stairs. We sneak into my father’s room. I look in his room, I’m searching for the key. The key to his sword collection. I finally find it. I unlock the room holding all his swords. On the wall are swords. In the middle of the room is a place to practice using a sword. My dad has a very spectacular sword collection. There are curved blades and strait blades. Beautiful handles and simple ones. I look at Ella’s face. She’s in awe. She’s looking at all the swords as if she’s afraid to touch them.   
“Go ahead,” I say. She looks at the shelves and then picks one out. It’s a straight blade. The handle is white with gold. She says it reminds her of a bird. I look at the swords for a little longer and then choose one. Mine has a curved blade with a black and gold handle. It looks very menacing and dangerous. I love it. We both have a slightly hard time holding our swords since we are so young. But we don’t care. We go into the middle of the room. Neither of us really knows how to begin a sword fight so I just say,  
“One, two, three, go!” Ella takes a swing at me but misses. I try to hit her with my sword. I’m unaware of the consequences. Neither of us thought this through. If I hit her and I don’t miss she will be badly wounded. Neither of us realize this. We don’t have any knowledge on what’s safe and what’s not. So when I take a swing at her with my sword she try’s to deflect it with her sword. But my blade cuts her wrist. She drops her sword and starts crying. I lead her into the bathroom.   
“I’ll be right back,” I say.   
I go put the swords back. I walk back into the bathroom. I’m not sure what to do but I’m terrified of what will happen if my parents find out. So I decide to take care of Ella’s wound myself.   
“Wash it in the sink.” I try to sound sure of what I’m doing but my voice comes out shaky and unsure. Ella looks at me. She doesn’t seem entirely comfortable with me cleaning her wound.  
“We should tell your parents. This cut really hurts.”   
“No. If we tell my parents we will get in trouble. Then our parents will be disappointed.”   
Ella looks at me sadly and says, “ok.” She turns on the sink and rinses our her cut. There’s blood everywhere in the sink. I tell her to use soap. She does. She cry’s out but keeps scrubbing. She tells me it stings.   
“That’s ok. It’s supposed to sting,” I reply. In truth I have no idea. I’m pretty sure you use soap but I’m not sure. I tell her to stop washing and to dry her hands. She does. The cut is still bleeding.   
“I’ll be right back,” I tell her. I go into my parents room and look for something to keep the cut from getting infected. I look everywhere in my parents room until I find it. When I do, I bring it back to the bathroom. I run it on Ella’s cut. She grits her teeth and I can tell she’s in pain. I stop rubbing the cream on her cut and she breathes a sigh of relief. I did around in the bathroom cabinet until I find something to wrap up her cut in. I wrap up her wrist.   
“Does it still hurt?”, I ask. She says it doesn’t hurt as much. “Remember, if someone asks about your injury tell them you cut it on a piece of metal on the swing and that I patched you up. Say it’s nothing serious. Ok?”, I say.  
“Ok,” she agrees. She looks worried and I can’t blame her. I’d be terrified if I were her. I know that Ella’s parents have bad tempers. And I would worry about that cut. I know I have no medical experience or knowledge whatsoever. But hopefully no one finds out about the accident and hopefully the cut is a minor injury. We quietly sneak outside and sit on the swings. When Ella’s parents get her they ask about her cut as she explains that she got cut on the swing set. Her parents look doubtful but decide to believe her. They drive away. Ella waves goodbye to me until her car is out of sight. I go inside and my father comes into the kitchen. He asks me about what happened to Ella’s wrist. I repeat the story.   
“Did you clean it yourself?”, he asks.  
“Yes.”  
“Did you use disinfectant?”  
“Yes.”  
“Ok. Good.” I almost see a smile play across his lips, but it disappears. He walks up to his room and I smile. For a moment her almost smiled! Back then that was al it took to make me happy. More than happy, elated! I practically skipped to my room. I layer on my bed and put my face into my pillow and let out a short, happy, laugh. I almost jumped up and down with joy! Then I noticed my hands were covered with Ella’s blood. I think about washing my hands but decide to just take a shower instead. One I dry myself off I put on clothes and lay on my bed. I lay there for about fifteen minutes before my father comes in. For a moment he looks angry but then he regains control of himself and his emotions.   
“Naveera.”  
“Yes.”  
“Show me the part of the swing that was broken.” He doesn’t ask why. Something about his voice is menacing.   
“Ok.”  
We go outside in the backyard. I tell my father to wait for a moment so I can find the broken part. “Ella was the one who cut herself. I’m not sure where the broken piece is.”  
I get on my hands and knees to look. I’m panicking inside. There is no broken part. My father knows that. He’s just toying with me. He’s trying to find out how far I can stretch before snapping. I’m playing along because I think that’s what my father wants me to do. All I want is to please him. I want his approval. I seek it out. I need it. It’s like a drug. Always needing more, no amount is enough. But now I’m afraid I’ll lose all of his trust. Now I’m worried. I stand up and tell him I can’t find it. He looks at me and very slowly he says,   
“What happened to Ella’s hand?” I swallow and repeat my story.   
“She cut it on the swing set.” I look up at my father and very quietly he says,   
“Naveera, we both know that’s not true.” And I say something very stupid. I say,  
“I don’t know what your talking about.” Then my father finally releases emotion. His face flushed and I can tell he’s angry.   
“Naveera, I want to know the truth! You should not and may not lie to me. Now tell me what happened to Ella’s hand.” I swallow nervously. I’m shaking and about to cry. I finally snap. I start crying.  
“I’m sorry father! I wasn’t trying to hurt Ella! We just wanted to practice our sword fighting together. I accidentally cut her and I’m so sorry! Please don’t be mad!” My father frowns.   
“How weak my daughter is. How disappointing.” My father walks away. I stand there, I the yard shaking. I’m still crying. I blink back my tears and stand taller. I know my father doesn’t want me to cry. I decide that I will stand here and face whatever punishment my father decides for me like a soldier. I will not show any emotions. Especially pain. I can not, will not show pain. So I stand up taller. I swallow my sobs. My father comes back out into the yard holding a whip. He tells me to come here. I walk. Inside I’m terrified and nervous. I’m a wreck inside. But outside I’m cool. I’m a blank sheet of paper. Completely unfeeling. My father mutters something under his breath. I can’t hear what he says. He lifts up my shirt and whips me three times across my back. It’s quick. He doesn’t hit me hard but it’s still painful. My back is screaming and I’m clenching my teeth. My fists are balled up and I’m on the verge of tears. My father is a blank sheet of paper. He walks inside as of nothing happened. I stand outside for a moment. I wait until I can’t hear my father’s footsteps on the floor, then I go inside. I walk across the kitchen floor. I go up the stairs and into my room. I close the door and go into my bathroom. My breathing is uneven and my back hurts like crazy. I’m suddenly dizzy. I turn on the water for the shower and go in. The water is hot and brutal. It burns my back, but I don’t care. I stand in the shower crying. It’s the only time I allow myself to feel. I’m alone. Sometimes loneliness is better company than a person. I know this is a fact. I get out of the shower and change into new clothes. I lay down on my bed and sigh. I close my eyes and drift off to sleep.  
...  
I wake up from my dream.  
See?  
The voice in my head asks me if I see. I don’t. I’m confused. I don’t understand at all. Pieces are coming together, but’s it it not a complete picture. I’m pacing around the room. My head is spinning. What does it mean? Why? How? “Who are you?” I’m shouting at the voice in my head. I’m screaming at it. “What do you want?” “Why me?” I’m sit down and take a deep breath. I’m not dramatic. That’s Ella’s job. The sudden realization that I know this terrifies me. How do I know this? I’m asking only myself. The voice in my head is quiet. It hasn’t said a word since it asked me if I see. I ask it one more time. I need the last piece to this puzzle. This isn’t the first night I’ve stayed awake wondering. Drifting off into dreams that are memories. I’ve had many. Me and Ella and Emmaline at Aaron’s house. Me and Ella swimming in the lake. The three of us eating ice cream at my house. Getting our hair cut, having a birthday party, going to the park. So many different days and so many different dreams. They came slowly at first. Then faster and faster. The fastest memories being tonight’s. But every night it’s the same. I wake up confused and scared. The voice in my head saying minimal words. But this time it feels a little different. Like this is the end. Like after tonight I’ll understand it better. Like this is the last step in my mission. This time it’s going to be over.   
...  
I’m six. My parents are telling me that Emmaline and Ella have drowned. I’m crying, sobbing. I’m sad. I have a hole of pain inside my chest. And I’m gasping for air, telling myself that it can’t be true. I’m scared. My parents have little sympathy. They looked sad telling me the news but now they look disappointed in me. They look as though me being sad is a weakness. Their looks are telling me I’m weak. And maybe I am. I’m only six after all, but my parents expect me to show no emotion. To be a blank sheet of paper. They don’t care what she I am, that’s what I’m expected to do. My mother looks at me in disgust and walks inside. My father gaze follows her inside the house. Then he looks at me.  
“Get it together Naveera. Here’s a word of advice, your pain can be one of your greatest strengths but right now you are using it as one of your greatest weaknesses.” He walks inside. He and my mother go upstairs into their room. They close their door and lock it. I sit outside for five more minutes. I allow myself to cry, to feel pain. When the five minutes are up I take a deep breath. Inside I am a mess. I’m crying and screaming at the same time. Inside I’m feeling so many emotions all rolled into one. But outside I’m cool and collected. I’m a blank sheet of paper, incapable but feeling anything. I walk calmly into my room. I lay down and sleep. When I wake up I the morning I remind myself to look blank. To look like my father and mother. Always perfect all the time. I go downstairs. I ask my mother when Ella and Emmaline’s funeral will be.   
“There won’t be one,” my mother replies. I look confused.   
“Don’t all deaths get a funeral?”, I ask. My mother looks at my father nervously. He steps in.   
“No. Many deaths actually don’t get funerals. I think your reading to many books, Naveera. Deaths only get a funeral in fairy tales.” He says it so effortlessly. My father is a master at not showing emotion. He never does. And when he snaps he doesn’t look crazy. He looks as though he should be mad. He’s always collected, even when he is showing anger or distrust. I’ve never seen him show sadness though. I think he’s incapable of doing so. I don’t want to look foolish in front of parents. I did think that all deaths got a funeral. But I can’t afford to lose my cool so I say,  
“Of course. What was I thinking?” And I walk upstairs. I take a shower. I’m obsessed with being clean. My parents do not approve. They tell me it’s a faze. Something I will grow out of. But they’ve been saying that for years now. I think it’s just me. Just another flaw I posses. When I step out of the shower I dry off and change into new, clean clothes. I decide to walk downstairs again. Maybe I can swing outside for a little. But when I walk I hear my mother’s voice. I can’t tell what she says. So I go downstairs and get a cup. Somebody did this in a book I read and I’m dying to see if it works. I press the cup to the door and listen. I can only catch bits of the conversation.   
“What if she finds out?” It’s my mothers voice. My father shushes her and says something illegible. I can tell my mother is panicking. She’s overly dramatic. Everyone knows that, but she rarely shows emotion. I hear a bit of her sentence. “Emmaline... failed experiment. Ella... adopted... Juliette. ... surviving underwater. ...no powers. ... with time.” My father starts to walk towards the door I try to move out of the way but it’s too late. My father swing the door open and I jump out of the way. He looks at me strangely and asks what I’m doing. I tell him I’m going downstairs. He asks why I have a cup.   
“For... water?” I don’t sound as sure as I’d like to.   
“Ok,” he says. But he doesn’t sound like he believes me. I go downstairs and fill the cup up with water. I drink it and then I go play outside. For the rest of the day I sit on the swing set. When it begins to become dark I go inside. I take another shower, dry off, change into pajamas, and go to bed. I wake up later than usual. I get dressed and walk downstairs. My mother is waiting for me. She tells me we are going to Ella and Emmaline’s house. She tells me their parents are sad about the loss of their daughters and that we are going to visit them.  
“Haider is coming too. So are the other kids. You know Lena and Aaron.” I nod. I’m unsure of what we are doing. I’m nervous but I don’t know why. We walk into the car and fly to Oceania. When we arrive at their house I see that some of the other kids are already there. I walk inside. So do the other children. Suddenly somebody grabs me from behind. They take me into the basement and strap me to a table. It looks like a medical table. One used for operating. Somebody gives me a shot. The world becomes black.  
I wake up in my room. I go downstairs. My mother is there.   
“Do you miss Ella?”, she asks. I’m confused. I ask who Ella is. She smiles. I’m elated. A smile from either of my parents is a rare thing. She tells me that Ella is an old family friend who recently died. She tells me that I only knew her when I was little. She says that I probably don’t remember her anyway and that it doesn’t matter anyway. Then I spend my day normally. When it’s time for bed, I shower, dry off, get changed, and go to sleep.  
...  
I wake up and I know. That last dream was the missing puzzle piece. The picture is clear now. Everything is clear.  
Understand?  
The voice in my head asks if I understand. And I do. And I know four things.  
One: the voice in my head is Emmaline.  
Two: the Reestablishment erased the supreme commander’s kid’s memories.   
Three: my dreams are not dreams, they are memories.   
And four: Ella is without a doubt, Juliette.

**Author's Note:**

> This is it! Told ya it was short. Hope you enjoyed! Reviews and kudos are greatly appreciated. Until next time-  
> BluBelle


End file.
